


Recovery (Part 1)

by Dystopian_Dramaqueen



Series: Recovery [1]
Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canada, F/M, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-23 22:26:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15616359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dystopian_Dramaqueen/pseuds/Dystopian_Dramaqueen
Summary: At the end of Season 2- the Marthas help June and Holly escape to Canada.Nick gets out a year later. They are inseparable. Their life would be heaven- if Hannah weren't still in Gilead. It was an impossible choice that haunts June every day.Conditions in Gilead worsen. Mayday makes one final attempt to help innocent citizens escape. Nick and June decide to help however they can. How much are they willing to risk to get Hannah out?





	1. Trigger Warning

It’s been 3 years. Since the Marthas got me and Holly out.

 

Once we were safe, Nick asked for a transfer. Told Waterford he’d look for me in northern rebel camps. Spent a year in the Gilead border force. Crossed into Canada one night. No one has come looking for him. We’ve started over. Patched together a pretty good life.

 

It would be perfect. If it weren’t for Hannah. Still in Gilead. Still a prisoner. If she’s even still alive.

 

That decision haunts me every day. I try to remember her in jeans and sweatshirts. Not that pink cloak. It tortures me that I left her behind. If I could do it over, I don’t know if I would make the same choice. It was an impossible decision.

 

I work for the American Embassy. I’m editing a Canadian citizenship application one day at the refugee center- and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I look around the room. Nothing amiss. Weird.

 

The feeling continues. I glance over my shoulder. Mystery solved. Nick is leaned back in his chair. Elbow on his desk, chin resting on his hand. Staring at me like he’s settled in at a movie. A dirty movie from the look of it.

 

I shake my head and mouth the words “Don’t you have work to do?” A smirk crosses his lips-  he scribbles on a piece of paper and holds it up.

 

_“Loving you is my full time job._

_Don’t distract me.”_

 

I roll my eyes. Write my response and hold it up:

 

_“Love doesn’t pay the bills._

_Don’t get fired for being a creeper.”_

 

He nods. Returns his attention to his desk. A few minutes later he walks by, drops a note on my desk, gives my shoulder a squeeze. Heads off to get some coffee.

 

_“I was thinking about fucking you._

_Slowly. The way you like._

_I was just getting to the part where you beg me to let you come._

_I’ll stop staring. But I’m still thinking_

_about what I’m going to do to you_

_as soon as I get you alone.”_

 

 

 

I fold the note slip it into my pocket. Jesus, Nick. I take a deep slow breath. Trying to slow my racing heart.

 

My eyes follow him as he fixes his coffee. Cool and collected. You’d never know he just dropped an atomic innuendo bomb. Black sweater- matches his black hair and his dreamy bedroom eyes. Doc Martens and skinny jeans. Dear God he looks good in those jeans. Tight in all the right places.

 

Now I’m the one staring...

 

 

Mental note. Ask therapist if this level of attraction is normal. Or... if I’m like...a sex addict. If I was...how do they treat that? I’d only accept treatment if it involves his naked body.

 

I wonder if any of the spare rooms in the back are open. We could work this out without being away too long. Or we could call out early and get home within the hour. But it would probably be conspicuous if we both “got sick” at the same time… I sigh and shake my head. I need to stop thinking about it. No sense getting my hopes up. Nick’s favorite pastime is getting me aroused and leaving me to smolder. He’ll definitely make me wait til we get home. Sure enough, he walks past and settles back at his desk without so much as a glance in my direction. Like he couldn’t care less.

 

\--------------------------------------------------

 

There is a flurry of activity near the intake desk. We haven’t had new arrivals in over a year.  I silently thank God for the distraction. I walk over to get a look with everyone else.

 

What I see stops me in my tracks. A handmaid and a guardian. The familiar colors.  I remember the last time I saw the crimson cloak. The snow white wings. Men dressed in all black. The buried memories are triggered.  Something snaps, like a steel bear trap. I am back in Gilead. Hijacked by blinding panic. I’m either going to throw up or pass out. I sit on the floor and squeeze my eyes shut.

 

_They’re here to take me back to Lydia._

_She found me._

_It was just a matter of time._

_She will punish me for leaving._

_She will teach me a lesson._

_If we confess our sins_

_He is righteous and just to forgive us._

_I’m sorry aunt Lydia._

_I_ _’m sorry aunt Lydia._

 _I_ _’m sorry aunt Lydia._

 

I feel arms lifting me up. Nick is half carrying/half walking me out of the room. Trying to sound reassuring. “Come on. It’s ok. I’ve got you.” 

 

We make it to the hallway. I lean against the cinderblock wall. He has his hands on my arms. “It’s ok. You’re safe. It’s just a panic attack. It’ll pass soon. You’re breathing really fast. Let’s slow down, ok?”

 

_I’m at the Red Center._

_They’re handcuffing Alma to the stove._

_Turning the gas flame higher._

_They’re gouging out Janine’s eye._

_Cutting off Emily’s clit._

_Whipping my feet for running._

_It is happening right now._

_The screams are deafening._

_I keep my eyes on the floor._

_Face down. Humble before God._

_Sorry Aunt Lydia. I’m so sorry._

_It won’t happen again._

 

Nick furrows his brow. “June... Can you hear me?” When I don't answer- he pulls me into his arms. Wraps his body around me. Holds me tight.

 

Something changes. The flashback pauses. I smell his aftershave. I hold on to it. Smells good. Like pine needles and musk. I notice how soft his skin is against my cheek. I feel him breathing. Chest rising and falling against mine. I am able to focus on that steady movement and slow my breathing to match his. I feel his unfaltering heartbeat. I feel mine slowing down. Trying to duplicate the rhythm.

 

My body trusts his. If he thinks we're safe, we must be safe. My muscles relax a little. He hugs me tighter.

 

After several minutes, he pulls back and looks at me.

 

“It’s ok. They’re not going to hurt us. We need to find out what they know. They might know something that could help us get Hannah out.”

 

Her name is another anchor to reality. I pull myself back a little more. “Hannah” I repeat. 

 

He nods. There is something in his eyes I haven’t seen in a long time.

 

I nod. “I want to go too.” 

 

He looks worried. “You sure?”

 

“Yeah. I feel better. Thanks.” 

 

He nods. “Ok. The debriefing starts in 15 minutes. Lets get some water.”


	2. Debriefing

 

We find a place near the back. Standing room only.

 

The refugees have changed into donated clothes. Sweatshirts and jeans. I’m glad. I don’t think the uniforms would have triggered me again, but you never know. That was crazy. The flashback was so real. I haven’t had one in years.

 

We give them mugs of hot tea. We want them to feel welcome. But we also want to get any information out, in public, while their memories are still fresh. Half town hall. Half deposition. Nick used to go to every one of these when they were frequent.

 

The flow of refugees slowed down last fall, and no one new has made it out of Gilead for the past year. It’s a big deal that these two are here.

 

They tell us that things in Gilead have gotten worse. High level officials were purged for being too lenient. So now even bigger tyrants are in power. Paranoia reigns. Everyone lives in terror. Mayday lost a lot of people, has been silent for the past year.   

 

After the bombing, the escapes and the executions- Gilead is running low on women. The number of handmaids and econowives has dropped below sustainable levels. As a result, they are calling for extradition of former citizens from Canada. Threatening military action against nations that do not comply.

 

My blood runs cold. What the actual fuck. Nick takes my hand.

 

Mayday will be evacuating as many people as possible over the next week. They're calling it operation salvage.  A mass exodus. A Hail Mary rush for the border. Starting one week from today.

 

The guardian keeps shaking his head and looking at the floor. Like he can’t stand to acknowledge the horror he is about to share. He finally whispers something- and the people up front gasp. The message filters back to us. They’re planning to lower the age of handmaid trainees and econowives to 13.

 

Gross. What the fuck is wrong with them.

 

Then it hits me like a hammer to the chest. Hannah. Would be 13 this year.

 

The floor drops out from under me. I’m able to lean against the wall and get to the floor- before everything goes black.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_Those memories I’d repressed...they’re real._

_That shit happened._

_Those monsters are still down there._

_Raping and kidnapping._

_I can’t ignore it any longer._

_They have my daughter._

_They will hurt her._

_Like they hurt me._

_And Emily. And Alma. And Janine. And Moira._

 

 

I realize I’ve drifted back into my thoughts again.

 

I try to find an anchor to the present. Coffee. Table. Nick. Looking concerned. Watching my face. Waiting for me to talk first.

 

"What does extradition even look like? Gilead kicks our door in? The Canadians politely rescind my visa?"

 

"Won't happen. Don't worry about it. They're just talking a big game to conceal how weak they are."

 

“They can't make me go back to Gilead. Even if they could- I won't do it. I’d rather die.”

 

He nods. “If extradition becomes even a remote possibility, we’ll move. Start over.”

 

“I’m not leaving without Hannah.”

 

We fall silent. It’s a sore subject. We tried. So hard. All we found were closed doors and polite apologies. What remains of the US Government has no power, and Canada doesn’t want to make enemies. My daughter is a slave. I am powerless to help her.

 

Nick reaches across the table and puts his hand on mine. “We’ll get her out.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The American Embassy hosts a town hall the next day. To prepare for the influx of refugees.

The council is seated up front. Embassy employees and civilians are seated in the audience. 

We’re two hours into this meeting and no one has said anything remotely pragmatic. It’s just politicians talking to hear themselves talk. Such bullshit. Such a waste of time. The question and answer session isn’t scheduled to start for another hour. 

We are 10 miles from the boundary between Canada and Gilead. The border is just forest. No fences or walls. No military presence. It’s where Moira, Nick, and I all crossed.

Canada’s official plan is to have teams watch the border. Help the refugees once they’re on our side of the invisible line. I wish I was joking. Duh. What’s the alternative? Not watch the border? Not help them when they get here?

I can’t take this shit any more. I stand and interrupt. “The refugees don’t need help once they’re safely across the border. They need help GETTING to the border. We need to get supplies to them. Food and water. Batteries, flashlights, blankets. It helps no one if they make it to the safe houses and freeze or starve.”  

The chairman shakes his head. “Miss, the safe houses you speak of are several miles south of the border. Canadians cannot enter Gilead uninvited. It would be considered an invasion. It would be illegal.” He says this last word slowly. Like I’m an idiot. 

“Illegal…” I pause. Struggling with the word. Like it’s too big for me to understand.  “Illegal...like...the war crimes being committed in Gilead?"  

People in the audience chuckle.

“Let me make sure I am hearing YOUR plan correctly. You think we should sit tight and follow the rules, while the totalitarian dictatorship next door murders its citizens? We should mind our business. Behave ourselves. Hope for the best. Because historically, that’s what works in situations like this. Like Germany in World War II. Good thing everyone sat tight and waited that out, right?”

He looks flustered. Shakes his head. Body language trying to silence me. “With all due respect miss…” 

I continue:  

“I’m sorry Mr. Chairman. You’re speaking so confidently. You must have personal experience in these matters. When exactly did you escape Gilead?” More laughter. Nick smiles at the floor. “Tell us about your escape. Did you hide in a rebel safe house? Where did you cross? Through these woods on foot?” I let it hang in the air. He doesn’t give me the satisfaction of admitting he hasn’t. “Oh, you don’t have personal experience? Because I do. I have way more knowledge on this topic than you do. Don’t gaslight me.” 

I turn to the audience. “It’s winter. Food and blankets may be the difference between life and death for these people. We need to get supplies into Gilead somehow.”

“She’s right.” Nick stands up next to me. 

The chairman turns to the council, exasperated. “Excuse me. It’s not time for comments yet.”

The council members who know Nick smile at each other. The director of security operations stands up. Large burly guy. Bushy red beard. 

“Mr. Chairman, I think the council has discussed this quite enough. Without any real progress. That man has more direct experience on this topic than anyone in this room. We keep trying to give Mr. Blaine my job but he won’t take it. He served 3 years in the US army after high school. Founding member of the Sons of Jacob. 10 years in the Gilead secret police. 9 of those undercover in Mayday. His final year in Gilead was in the Northern Border Force. Living in the buildings we are talking about. Running operations for the enemy we are discussing.” 

The room is silent. 

Nick mutters under his breath “But what the fuck do I know.”

The chairman looks around the room- his advisers nod confirmation. 

“I apologize, Mr. Blaine. You were saying?” 

“I was saying Ms. Osborne is right. Her plan is a good one. You should listen to her. It would make a major difference to stock the safe houses within a 20 mile radius of the border. Could be the difference between life and death for the runaways. Many of them will get to the safe houses, but not the border. After multiple days running and hiding. They’ll have to spend the night. It is freezing out there. Without supplies they may not make it.”

“Thank you for your input. We’ll consider it.”

“Don’t thank me. It wasn’t my idea.” He sits down. 

“Thank you both. Can both of you come back tomorrow to go over specifics?”

We nod. 

\----------------------------------------

On the way out, the Director of Security finds us. 

“God, that guy is an asshole.”

Nick nods. Introduces us. “June- this is Bryan Sullivan. Good friend. Bryan- this is June.” 

Bryan looks me up and down, nodding approval. “Damn, man you weren’t kidding. She’s gorgeous.” 

Nick hits his shoulder and shakes his head. 

“June, I think you have the right idea. We have to get off our asses, get in there and help. Or none of this will work. Hey, we’re getting drinks, you guys want to come? Throw some ideas around?” 

On the drive to the bar, Nick tells me that several members of the security council- including Bryan Sullivan, Matt Johnston and Jason Tucker- held identical positions to him in Gilead. They were all high ranking officers in both the Eyes and Mayday. Hiding in plain sight, working to take it down from the inside. They were in different districts and never knew each other until Canada. They’ve been meeting weekly for the past several years. They’ve stockpiled some military equipment. Weapons, camping gear, old Eye and Guardian uniforms. They can blend in anywhere. Gilead, Canada, Mayday. Nick has me put Bryan’s number in my phone. Just in case, he says.

 


	5. Preparations

 

>  

 

The next five days are a blur. Gathering supplies, packing vehicles. We decide that each safehouse should get the same equipment. One bag of food and water, big stack of blankets. Basic medical supplies. Maps, compasses.

Canada never officially sanctions the border crossing. The supply drop will be done by volunteers. Nick tells me he signed up to go into Gilead tomorrow. I tell him I did too. An epic fight ensues. 

“June you are so... fucking…”

“Stubborn? Yeah, Nick I am stubborn. I stand my ground when something's important to me. I’m going to try to fucking help. It’s the least I can do after 3 years living in a bubble of denial. You call that stubborn? Well maybe I am. Go fuck yourself.”

He shakes his head. A smile comes despite his best efforts. “That’s not what I was going to say.” The energy changes directions. I walk up to him. Look him dead in the eye. War paint still on. “Whatever you have to say, say it now.”

He has a full out smile at this point. “You’re so fucking **brave**.” I’m taken aback. I was not expecting a compliment. “That first night you came to my apartment. I thought- she knows I’m an Eye. I could have her arrested for being here. But here she is. Not afraid. Of me or anyone. This woman is a stone cold badass.” He takes a step closer. I feel heat coming off his body. “That’s the moment I fell in love with you. I thought you were a badass… BEFORE you saved Janine. BEFORE you punched Fred in the face. BEFORE you got my daughter out of the country. Imagine what I think of you now.” The air is made of electricity. Every breath is a tidal wave. 

He looks up, finds my eyes. “You still aren't afraid. I can't fucking believe it.” I nod. “I’m only afraid of not doing enough to help.”

He shakes his head. “I wish you'd stay here with Holly. I'll lose my mind if anything happens to you. I wouldn't want to live.” I take his face in my hands. “I feel the same way about you. So let's stay together tomorrow.  Look out for each other, get the work done, get back here in one piece. No matter how it goes, we’ll be together. Ok?” He looks so sad. It's like that day in the hospital. Like he knows something I don't. I kiss him. We make love. I remember it feeling really tragic. Like it was the last time. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Morning comes. The day of the supply drop. We leave Holly with Moira next door. She has agreed to take custody if anything happens to us.

 

One last meeting. A lady in a pink cardigan tells us what to do if we are lost or captured. I can’t stop rolling my eyes. As a handmaid in Gilead I was beaten, imprisoned, chained, raped, starved. That’s how Gilead treats it’s precious resources. Imagine how they treat their enemies. If we’re captured we’re totally fucked. Game over.

 

We're assigned to the same team. We drive south with Matt and Bryan. We hike the last few miles through the woods, across the border. Our assigned safe house is a small cabin at the top of a ridge. No power. Freezing cold inside. Totally empty. Bare cabinets. We set everything out. The food, water, matches, cooking stove, the supply bags, blankets. It feels right. It feels like we’ve made a tangible difference.

 

We head back to Canada. To the refugee center. The other teams return throughout the day. All safehouses within a 20 mile radius of the border have successfully been stocked. I feel better knowing we have done what we can. Nick, Matt, Bryan and I sit by the radio scanner until about 10 pm- then head home.

 

That week we take shifts watching the border. Sitting in a van, listening to 'Radio Free America.' Pretty good tunes. Classic rock, mostly. Bruce Springsteen. Journey. Tom Petty. ‘Don’t Stop Believin’ comes on. I lean over and crank the volume.  “That’s a classic! Turn that shit up!” I hold the scanner up like a microphone and dramatically lip sync the first verse. Nick watches with a grin, grabs a bottle of water from the back seat and joins me for the chorus. We laugh. It almost feels normal. In another life- this could be just another day.

 

During the last hour of our shift we see movement at the tree line. I tap Nick- he’s already seen it and has his hand on the door handle. It’s two people. A Martha and a Guardian. Running. They look exhausted. Nick hands me the radio. “Stay in the car. I’ll talk to them. If anything bad happens, drive to the center.”

 

He climbs out, grabs bottles of water from the back. Closes the door. He waves, jogs over to them. They are clearly trying to catch their breath and talk at the same time. They must have been on foot the whole time. I scan the tree line. It looks like they're alone. I radio back to the refugee center. “This is team 13. We have two adults. One male, one female. Additional details when available.” It’s starting. Operation Salvage. I smile. We fucking did it.

 

Nick looks worried. For someone who normally shows no emotion, he has a terrible poker face. Something’s wrong. My stomach drops. I step out of the car. Walk quickly to them. “Nick. NICK. What’s wrong? What did they say?” He shakes his head. “These are the only two who made it out. There were hundreds when they left. Everyone else was rounded up.”

 

“What?”

 

The guardian looks at me. Sucking in breaths and trying to talk as fast as he can. “We made it to the woods... But a few miles back...they caught up. Took everyone else....into custody.”

 

I grab the man by his shirt and scream “HOW COULD YOU LEAVE THEM BEHIND?” “Were there any children? Was Hannah with you?” I check myself. “AGNES. Was there a girl named Agnes with you?” I realize I’m shaking this poor man. Nick pulls me off him. “They ran to get help. We are the help. June. Look at me.” I stop. Move my eyes to his. “I need you to drive these people to the center. We need to debrief them as soon as possible. Can you do that?” I nod. “I know where they took the kids. I’m gonna go try to help them, ok?” I can’t hold back the tears, but I nod. This wasn’t the plan. We aren’t supposed to split up. I can’t stand this. What if something goes wrong?

 

Nick gets on his phone. “Bryan. Nick. Only two got out. We’ve got maybe 24 hours before they take the rest back to Gilead. Hundreds. Yeah. Get Matt and Jason and anyone else you can. Bring the gear. Bring the uniforms. Meet me at the cabin.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

I sit at the refugee center by the radio scanner. Nothing but static.  No new survivors. One day passes. Then two.  I have never been so scared. This is my worst nightmare. I can’t wake up. Please God let it be a dream. Please let me wake up. I’ve already lost Hannah. I can’t lose him too. 

 

At 8 am people start coming in for work. I must look insane. Perched on my desk with a blanket wrapped around me and the scanner in my hand. I haven’t slept in two days. 

 

I head back to my apartment and shower. Just now realizing how tired I am. There's a k nock on the door. It's Moira. Holly by her side. They must have heard me come in.  “Mommy home!” Holly hugs me, pulls back and scolds me. “You no go again, mama. You stay with me!” I smile and brush her black curls out of her face. She looks just like him. She has no idea her daddy is missing. I hug her tight and kiss her forehead. Moira promises to keep Holly as long as I need.

 

**\---------------**

 

I’m home playing with Holly. It’s been a week. I hear rushed footsteps in the hall and loud knocking on my door. It’s Moira. She tells me two teenagers crossed the border. There are more kids at the cabin where I dropped supplies. Without needing to ask, she settles in front of Holly and takes over. I grab my coat and shoes and race to the refugee center. 

 

By the time I get there, 18 more children have arrived. They have the usual shell shocked faces. Transitioning out of a warzone fucks with your head. Some of these kids were born there, have never known the outside world. It takes everything I have to not scream Hannah’s name. I don’t know if she’s even here. Please God. Please let her be here. If she’s dead, please give me closure. But please don’t let her be dead. Don’t let it all be for nothing. 

 

I walk from child to child- looking them in the face. Searching for the familiar features, her beautiful curly hair, her dark almond shaped eyes. I pause. Close my eyes. Take a deep breath. God give me strength. 

 

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. It's a young woman. Beautiful tight dark curls. Brown almond shaped eyes. Hannah's skin tone. But so much older than the chubby cheeked child I saw three years ago. “Hey Mom.” “Hannah?” I check myself. “Agnes?” “Don’t call me that. That's not my name. It’s me mom.”

 

I hold her. Probably too hard. I realize I’m not breathing. I pull back, stroke her hair, encoding her current, older face into my soul. “Hey baby. You ok?” “Yeah.” She smiles. Tears in her eyes. “Are we safe now?” “Yes baby. We’re out. They’re never going to hurt us again. You made it. Thank you for holding on baby. You did so good.” 

  
  


Hannah and I stay together. She helps me get the kids changed before their debriefing. We try to give them as much choice as possible. We ask what color blanket they want. Tea or cocoa? Getting them the right sized clothes. Hannah is right beside me the whole time. I can’t believe how much older she looks. 

\---------------------------

 

The kids are debriefed as a group. The lady in the pink cardigan leads. With her comforting sing-song voice. Does a pretty good job of keeping it light, avoiding leading questions. The older kids do most of the talking. 

**What happened when the guards found you in the woods?**

“They shot some of the Marthas. Took the grownups one way, and took us to an old school. Locked us in a classroom. That night a different guard came in. He was nice.”  

Hannah chimes in “He told us he was a friend, that he was there to help get us out. I’d seen him with my mom before so I knew it was true.” 

“He told us the plan, made us repeat it back twice. We went back to the classroom. When he left, he didn’t lock the door.” 

**Then what happened?**

“We told the other kids that we were going to play a game. When the fire alarm goes off, go left out the door, and see who can run down the hallway the fastest. Out the double doors, across the blacktop, into the woods.” 

**And then?**

“The fire alarm went off. We heard a lot of yelling and gunshots. Sounded like fireworks. Then it got really quiet. And we just ran. Across the blacktop, into the woods. We did what he said. Stopped every 5 minutes to check the compass count the little ones. He told us not to leave anyone behind. To carry them if they got tired. We kept checking the compass he gave us, heading North. We found the hill and the cabin. It was cold but we had blankets and a propane cook stove so it was ok. We told the little kids about camping like we used to do before Gilead. Tried to make it fun. Made shadow puppets with the flashlights, tents with the blankets. They had a good time. In the morning two of us walked the rest of the way to the border. There was a car waiting just like he said.”

\----------------------

I get Hannah an appointment with my therapist. I contact Luke. He’s living across town. Happily remarried. He deserves it. Just like I deserved to start over. We gave it a shot the first year I got here- but it was never the same. We’ve gone back to being friends. Fundamentally- he could never understand what I had been through. He couldn’t understand why I got someone else’s baby out of Gilead, but left our daughter behind. And I couldn’t understand why he didn’t do more to help me once he learned where I was. It is what it is. I thank him for his help. It’s really good for Hannah to see both of us. I know not to rush her. I just want her to feel safe. It took me about a year when I got out. She seems to be doing better than I did. Thank God we got her out in time. Before they started hurting her. 

  
  


 


	8. Chapter 8

More survivors stream in over the next week. Adults. Over a hundred in total. Processing and relocating them keeps us very busy at the refugee center. But every day- after work- after the girls are in bed- I lie awake and worry. Months pass this way.

 

I can’t escape a gnawing sense of guilt. For being silent the past 3 years. Letting Gilead expand and strengthen itself. I wonder if this is karma. I let the monster grow. I should have been fighting it this whole time. I think back to the letters from Jezebel’s. Gilead thrives on silence. Secrecy. Our stories, our words- made a difference once. One night, laying awake at 3am- I open my laptop and start writing all the stories I remember. Every terrible thing that happened to me. To Alma. Janine. Moira. Emily. 

 

The next morning I send out an email - seeing if there is any interest in a rape survivor support group. I make it clear I’m not a counselor- and that it’s just for community building and peer support. I have fifty emails in my box by dinner time.  We meet weekly. It is incredibly healing. I approach several of the women after and ask if I can share their stories anonymously. I transcribe every detail I can get my hands on.

 

I contact a local news station and ask if they have any interest in these stories. I get an interview lined up the following week. I have to buy a suit and everything. I get some interview prep from the head of PR at the embassy. I'm pleasantly surprised by the disgust on the face of the news anchor. He actually teared up at one point. It was great television. I get several more requests over the next week. The survivors, and my therapist, encourage me to continue the circuit- sharing our stories as widely as I can. I mail a copy of my document to the UN. I title it “Silent No More: The Humanitarian Crisis in Gilead.”

 

My guilt eases up a bit. I feel like I’m helping. But no matter how busy I stay, no matter how normal the days with the girls seem… 3am returns and I lay awake staring at the ceiling. Where the fuck is Nick. Was it a trade? I have Hannah safe in my bed, but the aching pit in my stomach remains. Worrying about someone else in fucking Gilead.

 

Fall returns. Autumn leaves underfoot. Bare trees against the blue sky. A year has passed with no new refugees. No contact from Mayday. No word from Nick, Matt, Bryan or Jason.

 

People start acting like they’re dead. No one actually says it. But I see their sympathetic looks. They stop talking when I walk in the room. One guy even drops a mention of his grief counselor into our conversation. How good he was. I thank him and take the business card. Fuck you dude. I’ll grieve when I see a fucking body. It shook me, though, I’ll admit. I don’t want to think about it. And I don’t want to rush it. If he’s alive I know he’ll try to get back. Maybe he just needs time. And if he’s dead. I’m not sure I want to know.

 

I’ll wait. Forever if I have to. I know he'd wait for me.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this one for a really long time. Time to get part 1 out there. It's dark in the middle, but happy/healing at the end. I wanted to explore the idea that suppressing grief and trauma can be healing and necessary- but can it be harmful? I also REALLY wanted to explore Nick's complicity in Gilead. I wanted him to clearly see all the harm his inaction caused. That's gonna be part 2. Thanks for reading- please keep writing new stories. I'm living off these things until Season 3 starts!!!


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